“So you quit asking.”
He shrugged.
But she recognized the look. She’d been asking God for something for nearly six years. First, forgiveness. Then, peace. And most recently, contentment.
She touched Lincoln’s hand. “I’ll tell you what. How about I ask for you, and you ask for me?”
Lincoln stared at her, a smile inching up his face. “And what do you want from God, Stefanie Noble?”
What did she want from God? It felt like a question she didn’t deserve to answer, didn’t know how to answer. She had so much—a family, a home, land that spoke to her soul. She had her horses and now the North kids, whom she loved more and more every day. She didn’t need more, right?
Him. She wanted him. But she wanted a Lincoln who wanted her just as much. And she wanted a Lincoln who was free of the secrets that hid in the back of his eyes, the ones he thought she didn’t notice. But she couldn’t say that out loud, could she?
“I want something in my life that is more than cattle and land. I want something meaningful and lasting.”
He reached over, wound his fingers through her hair. “Like giving Gideon and his family a home?”
Now how did he know that? The fact that he’d guessed made her wonder just how easily he read her. “A few years ago, I even tried opening a dude ranch, but it didn’t work. And last year, Rafe was going to do this fund-raising thing on our ranch. But ever since the North kids arrived, I’ve seen the ranch in a new way. Maybe . . . Nick would never go for it, but when I was little, I used to dream of opening a ranch for kids—foster kids or maybe disabled kids. Kids who needed the healing that being around horses and the outdoors brings. Sort of a horse whisperer for kids, maybe.”
Lincoln was looking at her in a way that made her body feel as if it might be giving off a glow. “I’ve loved that idea ever since you mentioned it.”
Stefanie could barely swallow, and she looked away. He remembered that?
He put his hand on her cheek. “You should do it.”
Oh, brother, now real tears filled her eyes. She wiped them with her hand. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m so gooey about this.”
Lincoln thumbed away a tear. “I could completely see you being a mom to a bunch of kids, foster or otherwise. You’re so patient and giving, and you believe in people.”
“I didn’t believe in you. I thought you were selfish. And a jerk.”
He made a wry face. “Except for that glaring mistake, yes.”
“I’ve decided that you are a nice guy, by the way.”
“Oh,” he said, lifting her chin, his mouth close to hers. “I’m glad you finally caught on.”
He leaned down to kiss her, but suddenly, well . . . “Linc, you need to know that . . . I’m not . . . I’m not going to . . . you know.”
“Huh?”
He was already on the way to stealing her heart—after all, there it was lying right on the checkerboard blanket they were sitting on, ready for him to scoop up—but she couldn’t let him walk away with it without knowing the ground rules.
“You know what I’m talking about.”
Lincoln stared at her, as if she might be speaking Swahili.
“I’m not the kind of girl you normally . . . date, okay? You need to know that.”
“Know . . . what?”
“Listen, I’m not . . . going to do the things that you might normally expect. . . .”
Lincoln stilled, his smile falling, his forehead creasing to a frown.
Stefanie felt an arrow to her gut. Why did he look so confused? “It’s just . . . I know that maybe you’re used to . . . you know. And it’s not like I’m a prude or anything, but I’ve made some mistakes, and I’m not going to go down that road again.”
“Oh?”
It might possibly be that her lungs had simply stopped working. She felt like a fish, gasping for air. But she wanted more from their relationship than whatever Lincoln was used to having.
“I don’t know what you think—”
“You just need to know that I’ve got standards. Rules. Beliefs—”
“Stop.” In his tone was something sharp and even hurt. “I can’t believe you’d even think that I’d expect—”
“You’re a movie star, aren’t you?”
“Oh, that’s kind.” Lincoln backed away from her.
“I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just that people expect—”
“Promiscuity from movie stars?”
Stefanie met his eyes, finding not humor but the strangest hue of frustration. “You sound like an old-time preacher.”
“I told you I went to church when I was a kid.” Something stirred in his eyes. “I can’t believe you’d think I’d . . . What kind of morals do you think I have?”
She wasn’t sure where to begin to answer him, but a burning had started in her gut.
Lincoln held up his hand. “Don’t answer that.” He sighed, shook his head, and looked away. “I came here to Montana to leave all that behind. I kind of thought I could, with you.”
Oh.
Stefanie reached out to him.
But he moved away from her. “Maybe I should take you home.”
“I’m sorry. It’s just that the last guy I dated, well, he wasn’t like you. He . . . had expectations.” She felt a burn on her face, the shame of her past roiling through her. “Expectations I wish I hadn’t given in to.”
Now she wanted to go home.
“I’m sorry.”
He took her hand and held it in the silence as the trees collected the breeze, a hawk circled in the sky.
“I was in college. Freshman year. I fell hard for the campus hotshot, a guy named Doug Carlisle. Ironically, he’s on television now, in cheesy car dealership commercials.” Stefanie desperately needed Lincoln to laugh. Just to get the air flowing between them again.
“See, I knew it. You’re a groupie at heart.”
She hit him in the chest but took a full breath.
“Careful, Slugger, you have a wicked punch,” he said.
“I wasn’t a groupie. But I did think he loved me.”
All the teasing vanished from his face. “He didn’t.” It wasn’t a question, more of a groan.
Stefanie shivered against the memory of the party after the football game, the cold seat of the car against her back, the icy shame that entered her heart.
“We dated for three months. I was hopelessly in love with him, but he didn’t share my feelings. He made reservations for dinner at an expensive hotel. Or at least I thought they were for us. I saw it in his planner, and I assumed—well, I was naive and thought he might be proposing or something. I even bought . . .” She hung her head, but Lincoln’s hand cupped her chin, lifting it. “A dress. A golden dress—it was beautiful.” She wrinkled her nose. “You know I’m not a dress girl.”
“I completely disagree.” He ran his finger down the tip of her nose.
Stefanie closed her eyes, fighting a new kind of emotion. “I waited for him to pick me up. I actually called the hotel to confirm, and yes, he was there. I grabbed my own taxi, thinking that I was supposed to meet him there, thinking it was my fault.” She didn’t want to see what she remembered behind her closed eyes, but now, suddenly, Doug’s betrayal didn’t feel as sharp, and her shame didn’t close in on her like a fist. “He had made plans. . . . Except not for us. Or rather, not with me.”
Lincoln’s thumb trailed down her cheekbone.
She opened her eyes, and to her surprise, he looked wounded. Please don’t let him be acting.
Something terrible ranged over his face. “Guys can really be jerks.” The sorrow in his eyes tightened her throat. “On behalf of all men who have been jerks to you, I apologize.”
“Oh, Linc—”
“Let me finish.” He swallowed. “I have this incredibly sick feeling that I’ve behaved like Doug Carlisle in my life, and I want to tell you that I’m sorry. More sorry than you can ever imagine.” He turned away as if to ga
ther his emotions.
It hit her then—full-on, like the hooves of a horse but without the bruising, the tearing of cartilage, the breaking of bones—that she could love Lincoln Cash. Really love him, with the kind of love that believed in him and wanted to know him, his dark sides and his joys, his fears and his triumphs. She could love him for his transparency and despite his arrogance, for his gentleness and his strength. She already loved him for the fact that he couldn’t watch his own movies and that he took care of Alyssa. And because he’d given her a puppy named Bill.
Mostly because when she was with him, the look in his eyes made her feel beautiful and strong.
Whole.
And wasn’t that some sort of miracle? Maybe it wasn’t her actions that made her empty but her anger. Her shame.
Her unforgiveness.
Lincoln took her hands in his, ran his thumbs over the tops, saying nothing. As if waiting for her response.
Waiting for her forgiveness. Not that he needed it, but Doug did. Or rather, she needed to give it. Perhaps forgiveness was the first step to ripping the bitter root from her heart.
“I forgive you, Linc, on behalf of all the girls you’ve hurt.”
When he met her gaze, the bleak look in his eyes began to drain.
She smiled.
When he reached for her, his fingers in her hair, she kissed him without hearing one voice from the past calling her names.
After all this time tracking him down, nudging herself into his life, everything had backfired.
She would blame the woman, the one who’d edged her way into his life, thwarting her plans. Didn’t Stefanie Noble know that he would only bring her trouble? only destroy everything?
That’s what people like him did—lived life without regard for those they hurt. Those whose lives they destroyed.
She watched him every day, her anger festering inside her, rooting, turning every thought into poison. How she wanted him to hurt like she had. How she wanted to turn his life inside out and make him cry out in pain.
She wanted everyone to know it, to feel with her what he’d stolen. To see how his choices had cost her. People—fans—across the world would applaud her for her courage. For her strength. For standing up and taking back her life.
The life he stole.
And as opportunity would have it, she knew exactly how to make it happen.
CHAPTER 16
IT WAS ONLY A MATTER of time before Lincoln’s world imploded. Not only could his private investigator not find Gina, not only had he woken up this morning with invisible weights attached to his arms and legs, and not only had Dex called again last night, wanting to talk to him, but this morning, Nick Noble had appeared, looking like a man with a bone to pick.
Nick had gotten out of his truck, stared at Lincoln’s house, then ambled over and stood at the corral, one leg up on the bottom rail, hands dangling over the top rail.
Lincoln figured it was an invitation to join him down at the O.K. Corral. He tried to push the word showdown out of his head, but it was right there, thundering as Lincoln pulled on his boots and grabbed his cowboy hat. He sort of sauntered/limped out of the house and rode the four-wheeler down the hill.
Not that Lincoln had anything to feel guilty about. After his picnic with Stefanie two days ago, he’d been feeling like a man with a second chance. A second chance to treat a woman with respect. Until, of course, Nick Noble came around, looking every inch the big brother.
Nick Noble had been born in this rugged country, probably with a rope in one hand and a branding iron in the other. He looked as natural standing there, the worn good-guy white Stetson on his head, as the tumbleweed did rolling across the prairie.
“Hey, Nick,” Lincoln said, climbing off his four-wheeler.
Nick regarded Lincoln with a look that might have rattled a lesser man. “I’ll get to the point.”
Lincoln braced himself. Out here, a man didn’t get to the point until after he talked about his cattle and the weather and his new machinery and probably the local politics.
“What are your intentions regarding my sister?”
Oh, boy. Lincoln stood against the fence, watching his horses. Stefanie had taught Gideon how to feed them and let them out for exercise every day. More and more, Lincoln wondered what he’d do without Gideon.
And without Stefanie. She’d crawled into his heart in a way that he hadn’t expected. Sure, he’d wanted to earn her respect, maybe even prove he was her kind of man, but he hadn’t been prepared for how complete she made him feel. As if he no longer had to be in the room when she was there; he could just enjoy himself, lose himself in her smile. She had a strength about her that made him strong.
Or at least feel strong.
Lincoln swallowed, letting the wind and the beautiful Montana day fill the silence. He’d started to watch the sky like the cowboys, hoping for rain, worried that it might be another drought season.
It seemed that Nick would wait him out.
Lincoln sighed, not sure how to put what Stefanie made him feel into words. “I don’t know.”
Nick angled a look at him; clearly the answer wasn’t what Nick had hoped for.
Lincoln stared down at his boots. “I don’t know, okay?”
“Do you love her?”
Lincoln glanced at him, his face twitching.
Nick’s face broke into a slow smile. Then he pushed back his hat and laughed. “Okay, that’s enough of a yes for me.” He shook his head. “In case you’re wondering, if she makes you want to be a better guy and you think you might just stop breathing when you’re around her and your head won’t stop spinning—that feeling there is called love.” Nick clapped him on the shoulder. “Just in case you were confused.”
Lincoln nodded, not quite sure what to say and wondering how Nick had gotten inside his head.
Nick’s smile fell. “But let me be perfectly clear. You hurt her, and I promise you there won’t be any stuntmen around to take your fall for you.” He flashed Lincoln another smile. “Have a good day.”
Lincoln watched him go, a cold knot in his chest.
If Nick’s description was right, he just might be falling in love with Stefanie.
But he had to face the truth: his disease most definitely wasn’t going to go quietly into the night. Someday, maybe not far away, he might even need help to get out of bed, to get into his wheelchair. To eat.
Yeah, he’d be a real catch for a woman like Stefanie.
Lincoln thought he might be ill. How was he supposed to tell Stefanie that he wasn’t at all the man she saw? wasn’t anything like the man she expected in her life?
“Good morning.” Gideon came out of the barn, holding a bucket of grain. “You want me to put the horses into the pasture after I’m done feeding them?”
Lincoln nodded, unable to speak.
Gideon opened the corral gate, went in, and filled the feed trough. Lincoln’s herd of horses had begun to heal nicely, their coats starting to glisten in the sunlight. Stefanie had been right—they were beautiful animals. He wished he could ride one, but he knew in his condition that might never be a reality.
Gideon looked like a Cowboy U contestant gone wrong this morning with his black hair sticking out of a baseball cap plunked on backwards, and his ancient thermal shirt, worn cowboy boots, and ripped jeans. Still, as he moved through the horses, it seemed he’d inherited Stefanie’s magic with them, a gentleness in his touch that seemed to emanate from inside him. With the right environment and a little support, Gideon would turn out just fine.
Lincoln tilted his hat up. “How are things with you and Libby?”
Gideon looked at him. “What do you mean?”
“I thought you two were friends.”
“We are, but . . .” He gave a shrug that looked anything but nonchalant.
Lincoln had studied body language enough to read the signs of rejection. “I’m sorry, pal.”
Gideon walked toward him, shaking his head. “Naw, we’re not rig
ht for each other. She’s . . . too good for me. Besides, she has big plans for her life. Going off to college this fall.”
“What about you—don’t you want to go to college?”
“Me?” Gideon laughed. “I didn’t even finish high school. Got my GED in jail.”
“That counts.”
Gideon came out of the corral and closed the gate. “Yeah, well, I got my sisters to look after.”
“What if you had someone else to look after them? What if they were cared for and safe?”
“I don’t know.”
“Don’t you ever dream of doing anything with your life? What do you want to be?” Lincoln saw hesitation in Gideon’s posture and leaped for it. “What, Gideon?”
“I . . . sorta started thinking about being a vet.”
“You’d make a killer vet—no pun intended.”
Gideon’s blue eyes shone up at him.
“See, you could very well be college material. And I think you should tell Libby that.”
“No, I’m bad news for her.”
Lincoln frowned. “What do you mean by that?”
Gideon started to turn away, but Lincoln grabbed his arm. It cost him and he nearly fell. He made a grab for the rail. Gideon gave him a funny look.
“What do you mean you’re bad news?” Lincoln repeated, hoping to deflect Gideon’s curiosity.
“I’m not . . . in her league. I’m not her type.”
“Is that what she said?”
Gideon pursed his lips, as if Lincoln had pried from him his darkest secret.
“Don’t you think she should have the right to decide that?”
Gideon shook his head and moved away, clearly already having made up his mind.
But Lincoln’s own words thumped inside him all day, like an old rap song. Didn’t Stefanie have the right to decide how she felt about his disease?
He spent the day in his office, sorting through the movie scripts piling up on his desk. A number of them caught his attention, even rattled him. Like the film script titled The Last Ride. It began at the moment a man died and unwound all the way back to the place where his life had started to derail. It illustrated the passion of a life driven by desperation. However, the dark ending—or rather beginning—unnerved him.
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